


an honest answer

by nilchance



Series: ain't this the life [22]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, Fellcest - Freeform, M/M, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), eventual spicykustard, offscreen kustard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-04 01:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17888573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nilchance/pseuds/nilchance
Summary: Edge takes care of his people.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> detailed content warnings in the endnotes

Less than twenty seconds after Undyne storms out of Edge’s office, having delivered the news that the PR team is coming, Edge’s cell phone rings. Edge isn’t surprised.

When Red calls him at work, there’s about a 50% chance somebody’s about to be dead and a 50% chance it’s bullshit shenanigans. Such is the way of his brother. He has no choice but to pick up and be greeted with Red drawling, “Shame about lunch, huh?”

Edge leans his hip against his desk. “Where did you leave the bug this time?”

“If I just tell you, you’re never gonna learn. By the by, I think you oughta take Papyrus out tonight.”

As always, Edge has a discomfiting moment when Red calls someone else by the name that was his for so many years. “Do you.”

“Sent you an address. There’s a class at that one leather shop downtown. You know the one. Figure you and the baby dom can get your education on.”

Yes, Edge knows the one. He’d been amazed by the fact that the surface had a resource like that available for anyone to find instead of having to scrounge materials from the dump. It was more sexual awareness than he gave the humans credit for, and he may have spent more money than was strictly advisable buying new tools. It’s the place where he found Sans’s collar.

“I didn’t realize you had complaints about my technique, brother,” Edge says. Which is not necessarily true; Red has no end of complaints about how careful Edge is with his precious 5 HP because Red is terrifyingly reckless with his own life. But Edge doubts _how to kill your idiot brother with your cock_ is the kind of class they offer.

Red gives a dismissive snort. “Yeah, right. I just figured the poor guy could use a night off. Been a rough couple weeks.”

Not untrue. Edge doesn’t know how _he_ got chosen to be the person to provide emotional support, but then no one else would understand Papyrus’s situation quite as well. And they’re friends, Edge thinks. An awkward realization. “How kind of you to arrange a playdate for us. Why do you want me out of the house?”

“Eh, me and Sansy are gonna have some fun,” Red says. “Might take a while. Might make a mess. I’m calling dibs.”

Dibs. Well now. That’s potentially worrying.

“For the night?” Edge asks, testing the deceptively still waters of that shark tank.

Red’s immediate laugh is reassuring. “I ain’t gonna get weird about it with _you_. Since when don’t I share my toys?”

“Since you stopped thinking of him as a toy,” Edge says.

Silence. That drew blood. Then Red says, sharp humor in his voice, “I’d throw him over in a second for you. Don’t get twitchy.”

Edge doesn’t doubt that. If he was cruel enough to demand it, Red wouldn’t hesitate. He’s never doubted how badly Red would hurt himself and others for the love of him. It’s terrifying and heartbreaking in equal measures, the things that Red would do if Edge asked.

The one line that Red won’t cross is letting Edge show that he loves him in return. Only the once, when Edge came home to him. If it had been Edge alone that suffered for his trip to hell, that night might have been worth it.

“Your loyalty isn’t in question,” Edge says as gently as Red will tolerate. “I want you both. But if things have changed--”

“Nah.” The very simplicity of Red’s answer is more proof of his honesty than any long-winded defense. “Besides, you think I’m giving up watching you rail him? Bitch, please. I’ve been thinking about it for nine fucking months. If that spank bank fantasy was a baby, I’d be pushing it out and selling its organs on the black market.”

Edge rubs the top of his nasal ridge. “I’m fascinated by how you think the black market works. Is there a big demand for infant organs? Why would your child have organs in the first place? Exactly whose baby are you having?”

Red groans. “Don’t overthink my metaphors. We’ve talked about this.”

“Believe me, I’d prefer not to think of them at all.”

“Whatever. I’m just calling dibs for the night because I wanna take my time with him.” Red’s grin is audible in his voice. “Finally cashing in that blank check.”

And that easily, Red ensures that Edge is going to be distracted for the rest of the afternoon, trying to wrangle with his vivid imagination. His duty is here and Sans wouldn’t welcome him, but fuck, the things Edge would do to be in Red’s bedroom.

Red laughs into Edge’s silence. “Thinking about it? Got a little mental porno going on?” 

“Asshole,” Edge says, and it sounds terribly fond. Fond enough to make Red balk and fling sharp words at him to make him bleed for it. Edge is a sentimental fool. He braces himself for the inevitable outburst.

“Yep,” Red says after a painfully long hesitation. “Enjoy your afternoon, boss. Try not to get too distracted remembering what his pussy looked like.”

Edge hisses irritably. “I didn’t _look_ , you--”

(He’d gotten a glance before forcibly redirecting his attention. The memory of the translucent blue wetness slicked between Sans’s femurs from where Red was toying with him haunts him.)

“Tell you what. I’ll get him one time extra just for you,” Red says, and hangs up on him, leaving Edge clutching the phone and breathing a little harder than he should.

It’s a good thing Edge is going to the leather shop tonight. He’s thinking of a few things he could pick up, something Red would enjoy not enjoying him. He doubts he can make Red regret winding him up only to leave him to stew in his own frustrated hormones, but they’ll certainly have both have fun if he tries.

***

To Edge’s surprise, he actually enjoys the class. It’s basic, tailored for people who are just trying their hands at rope bondage, but it’s nice to have instructions that didn’t come from a book. The instructor is a monster, apparently someone Papyrus has met before in his tentative forays into the local scene. There’s a several minute mini-lecture about the importance of positive intent when having a scene with a monster to avoid any unhappy accidents. He approves. Papyrus is a dedicated student, taking notes and asking questions and generally reminding Edge of himself the first few times he opened that section of the relationship handbook with trembling hands.

It’s a not unpleasant evening, wandering through the store, watching Papyrus handle each piece of equipment with a critical eye and then test it on himself. It’s promising. Not that Edge doubted Papyrus could excel at this, but Papyrus had been so twitchy and apologetic when he asked for Edge’s advice, squeamish about what he wanted and what it implied about him. Sadist is an unforgiving word for someone raised among monsters who won’t admit to feelings any darker than mild annoyance.

(And if Edge has ulterior motives, thinking of the fact that someone has to keep Red on the rails if Edge is killed or dragged back across universes, no one needs to know. Papyrus has the best chance of all of them. Better that he know what he’s doing.)

When Papyrus is finally done fondling everything in the shop under the indulgent eye of the owners, including poking skeptically at the sex toys on display, they go out into the street. It’s a cold night and the wind is sharp. Edge thinks about cutting it short and going home, hopefully in time to give Sans a ride instead of letting him shiver on a night bus. Then he glances at Papyrus, the strain beneath his smile. He owes Papyrus too much to leave him like this. “Do you want to get a coffee?”

“That depends!” Papyrus says. “Is this a genuine question or one of those social things?”

“The latter,” Edge says. It’s good to know that not naturally understanding these small social rituals is not just his own failing. Of course, failing to obey social rules in his own universe tended to end with someone dead so Red had drilled the protocol into his skull when he was a small child, but it’s still like trying to speak in a foreign tongue when he doesn’t understand the underlying grammar. Especially here, where no one just says what they fucking mean aside from Undyne and Papyrus. “You’re not obligated to actually drink the coffee. It’s symbolic.”

“Oh.” Papyrus exhales, relieved. “Thank goodness. Symbols don’t taste like paint-thinner and regret. I would like metaphorical coffee, yes.”

There’s a small independent coffee shop close by because this is an aggressively hip neighborhood. No one looks twice when they get their drinks and settle in the too-small chairs in the back of the shop. No point in trying to avoid eavesdroppers, considering the volume of Papyrus’s voice and the fact that they’re the only customers, but old habits die hard. It’s as automatic as sitting with his back to the wall so he can watch the front door.

Edge takes a few obligatory drinks of mediocre coffee and says, a little stilted, “How are you doing?”

“I’m f--”

“Sans isn’t here,” Edge says.

“Well,” Papyrus says, caught off guard. He swallows and looks down at his cup of tea, his mouth working. When he speaks, his voice is unusually quiet, more like Edge’s than his own. “You knew about his soul.”

Edge feels something from all of the times he was ordered to the blood-splattered judgment hall to stand in front of Red; it’s the weight of his sins on his back. His fingers tighten on the mug. Evenly, he says, “I didn’t know how sick he was, but yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Because Edge and Red both underestimated what kind of damage a life in this universe could do and how goddamn stupid Sans was about his secrets. Because Sans never would have forgiven him for it. Because Edge let that matter more than Sans’s health.

“Because I’m a fool,” Edge says. “He’s your brother. I should have come to you. I apologize.”

With sweet acid in his voice, Papyrus asks, “It wouldn’t be because you think I’m too naive to handle it, would it?”

“You and I disagree on several fundamental philosophical points, but that doesn’t make you weak,” Edge says. “It was a mistake. I was arrogant. It won’t happen again.”

Papyrus reaches over the table and pats his hand. Edge tries not to twitch. “I forgive you. I’m getting a lot of practice in that these days!”

A bit back-handed, but Papyrus seems to mean it. Edge inclines his head a little. “I appreciate that.”

“Besides, I think we all made plenty of mistakes! It was a veritable bonanza of bad decisions. I should’ve…” Papyrus’s smile falters. “I should have done a lot of things.”

After Red Fell, Edge remembers his own bitter self-recrimination. He should have known. He should have pushed harder. He should have demanded that his brother talk to him. Never mind that Red is a consummate liar and that pushing would have only made him viciously lash out. Edge’s guilt had little to do with rationality, and it didn’t have the complicating factor of Red being dragged to another universe and nearly murdered while Edge was left behind, helpless. 

He can’t tell Papyrus not to blame himself for Sans’s bad judgement; the words would be hypocritical and empty. He can’t say that he made the same mistakes himself once because Red prefers to hide the fact that he Fell with very good reason. He’s not good at comforting people. Terrorizing them, yes, but not comforting them.

“It’s over and done with,” Edge says. “He’s not dead. Anything else can be fixed.”

He expects Papyrus to latch onto that with his usual belligerent optimism. Instead Papyrus’s eyes narrow a little. “Edgy Me, may I ask you a question?”

Edge is suddenly much more alert. He’s no judge, but the expression on Papyrus’s face is setting off alarm bells. “If you’d like. It’s the least I can offer you.”

Strangely, Papyrus’s gaze flicks nervously to somewhere behind Edge. When Edge reflexively turns, checking for a threat, there is only an empty corner that the light doesn’t quite touch. He gives Papyrus a searching look, which Papyrus ignores to ask, “What do you know about Doctor Gaster?”

Edge frowns. “I know that name is coming up too often these days.”

Papyrus gives the smallest of winces. “I agree. But still! I’d like to compare notes.”

“All right,” Edge says slowly. “He was a scientist who worked with my brother in the labs. He fell into the Core and was unmade, erased from everyone’s memories but Red’s and Sans’s. Our version was an asshole, although no worse than anyone else in our universe. Red assumed he was dead, but apparently your version is alive in the void and sent Sans and I to the wrong universe for reasons that aren’t clear.”

When he stops, Papyrus asks, “Is that all?”

“Everything that I’m aware of,” Edge says. “Is there something else I should know?”

Papyrus leans back in his chair, looking both relieved and frustrated at once. He shakes his head. “You should ask Sans.”

“Truly a veritable font of information,” Edge says sourly, and then grimaces at the unintentional pun. “You know something. Don’t pick up his bad habits.”

“It’s not just my secret,” Papyrus says. “He knows more than I do because he’s the one who remembers. Besides, you’re such good… _friends_. He should tell you himself.”

Papyrus does him the courtesy of not making fingerquotes with the word ‘friend’, but there’s enough insinuation layered into that one word to keep archeologists busy for decades and he’s waggling his brows. At least Papyrus still seems to accept his courtship of Sans despite Edge’s mistakes. It’d be much harder if he outright objected, and it’s hard enough as it is.

“Is this the kind of secret that’s going to get someone killed?” Edge asks.

“I wouldn’t keep it if it was,” Papyrus says with some asperity. “You know the doctor is alive. That’s the dangerous part, and that’s not a secret.”

“Something will have to be done about that eventually.”

“Yes,” Papyrus agrees. “Except for the part where you implied we’ll deal with it by murdering him horribly.”

“You can’t deal with all your problems by being nice to them until they change their ways,” Edge says. “After what he’s done, showing him mercy would be a mistake.”

“Killing people is wrong no matter what they’ve done,” Papyrus says. There’s a definite edge to his voice. “I won’t change my mind about that because then I’d be someone else. I’ve been me for 22 years. I’m rather attached to me at this point.”

“He nearly killed your brother!” Edge says, disbelieving. “If he catches him in the void again--”

“Which is why Sans is taking the bus for right now. I’m saying we shouldn’t kill the doctor. I’m not saying we shouldn’t stop him. And if in the process, we happen to hurt him very, very badly…” Papyrus shrugs, looking strangely like his brother. “Well, someone can heal him right up and it’s like it never happened! That’s fine, isn’t it?”

Edge stares at him. There is a great deal of flexibility in Papyrus’s pacifism, it turns out, particularly when it comes to Sans. Scratch the surface of his friendly smile and Papyrus is angrier than Edge has ever seen him. Even angrier than the time they fought, when Papyrus saw the bruises around Red’s wrists and came to all the wrong conclusions and several of the right ones.

(Beaten and exhausted, Edge had told Papyrus everything. Red’s mood swings, his violent reactions when Edge tried to be kind, that this wasn’t what Edge wanted but it was all he could have. Things were broken and they couldn’t be fixed. Papyrus had listened, and then he’d helped Edge up off his knees, healed him, and said with genuine sympathy, “I’m sorry, Edgy Me. I didn’t understand.” It would have been easy to hate him for that.)

“You’ll help, then,” Edge says. “When the time comes to fight him.”

“Of course!” Papyrus says. “Nothing like a good fight to fire up the blood while leaving a great deal of it on the floor!”

And there’s nothing like a good fighter to help stack the odds. The fact that Papyrus will try to stop them from outright killing Gaster will be a problem, but they can deal with that when they have to. Edge would be stupid to reject his help.

Getting Sans on board with the idea is another thing entirely. 

“I’m glad. We’ll need you,” Edge says. Papyrus looks surprised for a moment, as if no one has ever told him that before. Once again, Edge seriously wonders at Undyne’s ploy to keep Papyrus out of the Guard. It was not only a strategic misstep but a cruel thing to do to a friend when she could’ve just fucking told him the truth instead of wasting his time. He changes the subject. “The class went well.”

It isn’t until Papyrus relaxes that Edge realizes how wire-tense he was. “Yes! I learned a lot of things. Not having a circulatory system or squishy organ parts makes things a little harder? But I’m sure it’s nothing I can’t handle!”

“Stay away from humans,” Edge says automatically. Then he remembers exactly how well that went when it was Sans and clears his throat. “For now. Monsters are less unfamiliar and therefore less complicated. Perhaps moldsmols.”

“They don’t have bones, which isn’t very familiar at all,” Papyrus says. “But I see your point. If at some point I get a chance--”

“You spoke to the instructor,” Edge says. “They invited you to a party next weekend. I was standing directly behind you.”

“Well,” Papyrus says, stymied. “Yes, but be that as it may, there are a lot of things going on right now--”

“You can’t put your life on indefinite hold.”

“Not indefinite,” Papyrus says defensively. “Just until he’s better!”

Edge shakes his head. “I already told you. If you’re waiting for him to be completely healed, it’s going to be months. Possibly years.”

If ever. Red still isn’t the monster he was before he Fell. To be fair, Red was Falling for so long and so gradually that Edge can’t remember a time that his brother didn’t seem exhausted and brittle. Maybe back when he was a child who thought Red was invincible, before he realized Red’s spiteful cockiness was an act. Before he understood what the numbers in Red’s CHECK truly meant.

5 HP. Such a slim margin for error, making Red forever tightwalk on the edge of an abyss. And Red, fool that he is, does it backwards with his eyes closed, daring gravity to take him.

And Edge loves him. Who is he to call anyone else a fool?

Papyrus winces. “I know. I remember things. Er, mostly. It just seems a little… selfish?”

“Selfish is a word people use to manipulate you into doing what they want,” Edge says flatly. “Rarely are the people who call you that thinking of anyone but themselves.”

Papyrus frowns at him. “That’s not a very generous interpretation, Edgy Me.”

“That doesn’t make me wrong,” Edge says. “You could do with thinking of yourself for once. Ignore what you need long enough and you’ll wind up in the same boat he is.” 

Hell, Edge knows from his own example; his soul had cracked more than once in the immediate aftermath of Red Falling, his grief and regret and rage building until something had to give. Papyrus isn’t immune to pain no matter what he pretends. 

Edge takes a sip of his now lukewarm coffee and says, “Go to the fucking party.”

It is perhaps a little more blunt than he needs to be, but _someone_ needs to make sure the precious idiots he’s surrounded by take care of themselves. One of the benefits of dealing with Papyrus is that he doesn’t take offense. He taps one finger on the mug, thinking, and then says, “Can I borrow your pants?”

Edge smiles.

***

Edge gets home later than he means to. They linger at the coffee shop until fifteen minutes before its midnight closing time. The conversation is surprisingly enjoyable. Papyrus has a lot of opinions, it turns out, and will defend them with surprising tenacity for someone who hesitates to disagree with Undyne about fried onions. They share embarrassing stories about their brothers, though Edge leaves out the ones involving murder. (He does not miss the fact that not a single one of Papyrus’s stories involves their childhood or adolescence.) Edge gives him various advice about things he’s learned from his last three years of practicing kink, mostly pitfalls to avoid. Better that Papyrus know what Edge learned from bitter experience.

So it’s a little after midnight when he lets himself into their home to find Red sprawled out on the sofa. It’s clear at a glance that Red pushed himself too hard, though he left himself enough magic to fight if he had to. A faint warning glow arcs between his fingers until he sees that it’s only Edge and relaxes, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. It’s reminiscent of the aftermath of fights that were too close for comfort. But there’s no threat, no blood and dust on Red’s clothes, no adrenaline and fresh EXP prickling through Edge’s system. They’re safe.

“Hey,” Red says, his voice rough with sleep. “You just missed him. Got him a cab.”

No real surprise there. It gives Edge a momentary pang of overprotective concern (he hasn’t seen Sans for days, he doesn’t know why Sans abruptly felt the need to leave town, and the thought of those unfamiliar humans so close to him when he’d clearly been drinking makes Edge’s teeth itch), but he trusts that Red looked after him. He shoves Red’s legs off the couch and sits down, only for Red to immediately lay them back on his lap. At least he has his muddy boots off this time. 

When Edge curls his fingers around one of Red’s ankles like a cuff, squeezing gently, Red makes a little noise of interested approval. He’s as lax and content as if he was stoned. Amused, Edge says, “If you look any more pleased with yourself, you’re going to break something.”

Red hums. “Productive day.”

Red has never hesitated to tell all the colorful details whether Edge asks or not, equal parts sitrep on their ongoing attempts to court Sans and rubbing what Edge can’t have in his face, but for once, he doesn’t elaborate. Edge doubts that it’s for the sake of Sans’s privacy. Instead Red seems to be turning something over in his head, examining it from every angle, _savoring_ it.

A quiet Red is usually a very dangerous thing. But looking at his brother, Edge thinks Red may not just be smug or content. It’s a rare sight, but he thinks Red might actually be happy.

Red meets his eyes, and Edge tries to school his expression back into its habitual frown. It earns him a slow blink, a silent _I saw that and I’m judging you for it_ , but Red is apparently in too forgiving a mood to bother fighting about it. Shifting so his heel presses enticingly against Edge’s pelvis, Red asks, the words gently blurring together in his tiredness, “You wanna blowjob?”

Very much so, after a day of thinking about all the things Red was doing to Sans and then an evening of considering all the things Edge might do to him with all the lovely tools in the shop. But he gently moves Red’s foot back to where it was. “No. You’d probably doze off.”

“Mm.” Red doesn’t argue the point. “You could just fuck my face.”

“In the morning,” Edge tells him. Red grumbles, eyes sliding shut. After a moment of listening to Red’s breathing unmistakably slide towards the rhythm of sleep, Edge gives his ankle a shake and gets a warning growl in response. “Go to bed.”

“Gotta clean the fucking carpet,” Red mutters without opening his eyes. “‘Cause you’re anal-retentive even though you don’t got one most of the time.”

“Neither do you, and yet you always manage to be an asshole,” Edge says. Red snorts, genuinely amused, and Edge has the usual moment of victory he feels when he makes his brother really laugh. He gives in to the inevitable. “Do it tomorrow. Our security deposit is fucked anyway.”

That makes Red crack an eye open, suspicious but not quite enough to fully wake up. “The hell’s got you in such a good mood?”

The real reason ( _because you’re happy, idiot_ ) wouldn’t go over particularly well. Edge has spent too much time with Red and Sans not to know how to use the truth to lie. He says, “I bought a few things that you might be interested in later.”

Suddenly, he has Red’s interest. In one fluid motion, Red insinuates himself onto Edge’s lap and grabs him by the jacket. “I’m awake. Lemme see.”

It’s hard not to laugh, but it’d only encourage him. “No. If you’re awake, go clean the carpet.”

“Boss,” Red says. “C’mon.”

“No,” Edge says in the exact same tone. Most people would hear it as bored. Most people aren’t a Sans. Lucky for Edge. The two of them keep him busy as it is.

Red leans a little closer, sensing weakness. His voice is softer, as if someone might overhear them. “What if I say please?”

“That’s unexpectedly polite of you, but the answer is still no,” Edge says dryly. “You’ll have to be patient for once in your life.”

Deliberately, Red grinds down on Edge’s lap and the banked arousal that Edge was trying to ignore flares hot. He settles his hands on Red’s hips, forcing him to stillness, and Red grins, clearly taking it as a win.

“Please, Paps?” Red says in that same soft voice. Edge’s grip tightens to something brutal, lighting a viciously amused glitter in Red’s eyes.

Edge pulls him closer, hitching their hips together, and kisses him. He expects to get bitten, but Red stays pliant, welcoming Edge’s tongue into his mouth, swaying towards him like a supple tree in a breeze. He smells like their bed, soap and sleep with the faintest echo of sex. He smells like home.

Edge pulls back. Gratifyingly, Red is flushed and breathing fast. For all that he’s playing his usual games, baiting him, he’s not unaffected. Edge can play him almost as easily by now.

“I’ll make you a deal, brother,” Edge says. “Form your magic and I’ll show you right now.”

A series of expressions cross Red’s face in very short succession: victorious smugness, sudden dismayed realization that he exhausted himself too much to do what Edge asked, annoyance, and grudging admiration for Edge’s tactics.

“Prick,” Red says.

“I learned from your example.” Edge scrapes a fingertip along the top of one of Red’s iliac crests, making him jerk. “I could be convinced to let you suck my cock. If you’re not too tired to work for it, of course.”

Immediately placated, Red smirks. “Heh. I think I can manage.”

“I thought so.” Edge moves one of his hands to the nape of Red’s neck, gripping his spine to feel the way Red shudders and relaxes. It’s beautiful. Tenderly, Edge says, “Get on your knees and show me why I should indulge you.”

In the end, Red is very, very convincing.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s one of the days that Frisk spends at school instead of the embassy. Edge recognizes that they need to learn math and go to gym class and all the other trappings of an actual childhood instead of trying to save a species that isn’t even their own, but the embassy seems emptier when they’re gone. Each meeting where he stands at Asgore’s back, a mute weapon ready to be unsheathed, is interminable. He longs to escape to his office and do work that actually requires him to think instead of watching and waiting.

No. Tell the truth. He longs to see for himself that Sans is in one piece. More than that, he selfishly longs to just spend time with him, to watch his face and hear his voice and talk about nothing of consequence.

(Not about Gaster. That’s a topic better discussed in private, not in the park when Edge only has fifteen to twenty minutes to get past the bullshit Sans will inevitably force him to navigate before he can get anywhere near the truth.)

Consequently, Edge has one eye on the clock the entire morning. He’s grateful for the time his break finally comes and he can turn to Undyne to ask, “Can you handle this by yourself for fifteen minutes, captain, or do you need me to stay and hold your hand?”

It’s a rote question, mostly asked because it makes her show all her teeth in a grin that gives him a nostalgic homesick pang. She punches his shoulder hard enough to make his fingers go numb, armor and all. “Yeah, yeah. I used to have to throw you out of here! What happened? Gonna go do a quick tour of the nerd factory?”

“I’ve met Dr. Alphys,” Edge says. “She’s lovely, but I’m afraid you have the market cornered on nerds.”

Undyne snorts, her grin softer and fond. “Yeah, she’s a total dork. Hey, when you get back, you wanna look at the wedding rings I narrowed it down to?”

He does not. But she looks so happy, a light in her eye he never got to see in his captain’s. Of course he says, “Yes, fine. I’ll look at them. Yet again.”

“She deserves the best goddamn ring in the world,” Undyne says, bristling. “I’m gonna put my whole heart into this! My soul! All my fire and passion!”

“I expected no less,” Edge says. “Still. Make a goddamn decision before you end up putting a vending machine trinket on her finger at the altar.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Undyne grumbles. “You’re not gonna be any better if you get hitched.”

Edge snorts, picturing the look on both Red and Sans’s faces if he offered. “It’s a good thing I have no interested in getting married, then.”

Then again, he’d agonized for weeks over Sans’s collar. It’s just a different choice of jewelry.

“Huh.” Undyne crosses her arms, studying him. “Like Papyrus? Is that like you don’t wanna get married or you don’t wanna date? Because there’s a couple people I was thinking of setting you up with if you--”

“Absolutely not. I have to go,” Edge says, turns on his heels, and leaves. 

Not his smoothest exit. He can’t blame Undyne for coming to the conclusion that he’s just hopeless at romance, considering that she’s in the glow of a loving relationship and that Edge can hardly advertise the fact that he’s fucking his brother in this universe, but Red’s reaction to Undyne finding him people to date could be anything from hysterical laughter and weeks of mocking Edge about it to anyone she named quietly going missing. Neither are ideal.

Considering how many recording devices Red has stashed around the embassy, he may already know. There’s a thought to keep Edge up at night.

Outside, the chill from last night lingers. It’s a quick slap in the face, waking him up, clearing his head. He goes to their bench. Sans hasn’t arrived yet, subject as he is to the vagaries of the city bus. Edge settles in to wait.

It isn’t long, only a few minutes before Sans appears at the sidewalk bordering the park. He looks unharmed, not favoring any injuries, not shuffling along like he’s too exhausted to pick up his feet. But Sans sees him and hesitates. For a moment, it’s like before they went to hell together. Before Sans let Edge near enough to touch him without tensing in skittish reaction.

(Perhaps that openness was the fluke, not this sudden hesitation. Perhaps Sans was only traumatized, clinging to Edge as the only person he could rely on in that situation, and now he has recovered enough to pull away again. Perhaps Red was right all along and Edge was never meant to have this kind of easy affection. Perhaps--)

Sans's gaze flicks over Edge's face, reading his expression much easier than Edge can read him in return. An unfair advantage. He closes the distance between them and thumps down onto the bench, near enough that their knees touch. "Hey, edgelord. How's tricks?"

"Fine," Edge says warily. He has the sense that Sans just made some kind of statement, whether to himself, to Edge or to the universe at large. “Are you--”

Mid-sentence, his brain suddenly stalls. Edge can smell the faint ghost of soap on Sans. His soap. His scent, left on Sans like a taunt.

It’s such a shame that Edge is going to be an only child soon. They had a good run.

It took Sans months to catch on to Edge being attracted to him, but of course he immediately notices Edge’s reaction now. Edge expects him to draw back from his desire like he was burnt, and there is a brief hesitation like he almost does. Then, surprisingly, he leans back against the bench. It’s a deliberate relaxation, but he doesn’t seem upset. Only thinking about something, coming to conclusions Edge can’t divine.

“What’d Red do?” Sans asks.

“Is it that obvious?” Edge asks, wry. “Or are you just going off the assumption that Red is usually doing something obnoxious at any given time?”

“Both. But you have a face you make when Red’s being an asshole.”

“It’s amazing that I ever stop.” Edge rubs a hand over his eyes as if to erase his expression. "It’s nothing. Rather benign for Red, really. No one’s bleeding. How was your vacation?"

"Eh, y'know." Sans shrugs, as if that's an actual answer that clarifies anything at all. He holds out his hand, something suddenly in his palm. “Hey, I brought you a present.”

What Sans brought him is a glass globe on a molded plastic base. Inside the globe, there is a misshapen human child building a castle made out of sand. As it tilts, tiny starfish that are inexplicably blue and silver float up from the bottom of the globe. The plastic base is a queasy pink-tan with the name of the resort town in vivid aqua. Despite the name, there is no snow in the snowglobe. The word tacky doesn’t adequately describe it. There is absolutely no point to it, a human frivolity to take up space on a shelf and collect dust. 

He takes it gently from Sans’s careless fingers and examines it closer. It gets worse the longer he looks at it. He’s gotten precious few gifts that didn’t come from Red, scrounged out of the dump or taken out of piles of dust. The charming plastic monstrosity isn’t the point. The time and effort Sans spent looking for the most hideous thing in the hotel gift shop, trying to amuse and/or annoy him, is the gift.

“I figure if worse comes to worse, you can crack someone’s skull with it,” Sans says.

Protectively, Edge draws it to his chest. “The glass would break. It’d be a terrible bludgeon.”

“Oh, right,” Sans says. “What was I thinking.”

“It’s wonderful,” Edge says. “Thank you.”

Sans glances away, looking pleased. “You’ve got weird tastes, buddy. But you’re welcome.”

Edge tucks the snowglobe away in his inventory. If he takes it home, Doomfanger will doubtless knock it off any shelf he puts it on. He’ll have to find somewhere in his office for it. Pride of place. That done, he rests his hands on his knees, removing the temptation to put an arm across the back of the bench to see if Sans will come even closer. He wants to breathe in the scent of his soap on Sans’s bones.

This might be a dangerous question, considering that even Papyrus didn’t give him a straight answer when he asked, but he tries anyway. “Is there a particular reason you felt you needed to leave town?”

"... heh." Sans's grin has an undercurrent of bitterness. He tips his head back, staring at the branches of the tree looming above him. For a moment, Edge thinks he simply isn’t going to answer. When he does, it’s only an answer if tilted sideways and examined with one eye closed. "Y’know, I had a whole thing going where I didn't feel anything at all. Lived that way for years before you guys showed up. It was nice."

Soul trauma can come with emotional numbness, both cause and symptom. There's no way to heal and remain at that same safe distance. Edge remembers how it felt after the first time Red healed his soul, the sudden vividness of his emotions almost frightening in its intensity. It was like regaining consciousness after a beating and feeling all the complaints of his body at once.

"It nearly killed you," Edge says. Sans gives an infuriating shrug. More sharply, Edge adds, “I’m not going to apologize.”

"I'm not asking you to. It was just easier, that's all.” Sans’s hand drifts to his left wrist, absently rubbing like it’s hurting him. Red might’ve been a little too rough when he held Sans down, something Red was happy to taunt Edge with over breakfast. Maybe Edge shouldn’t think of Red holding Sans down when Sans is right here to read his facial expressions. “So I did the thing I usually do and left. Turns out that you still have emotions on vacation. Who knew?"

“Having never been on a vacation, I have no point of reference.”

“You should try it,” Sans says, seizing the subject change. “Go drink daiquiris on a beach somewhere. Take your sweetass car down the coast and go to Disneyworld or something. Hell, we could go to Vegas and see how long it takes me and Red to get kicked out of all the casinos. It’ll be great.”

“Ah yes,” Edge says. “What’s a vacation without cheating the house and antagonizing the local heads of organized crime?”

Sans gives him a wink. “Exactly. Glad we’re on the same wavelength.”

“I’m not sure what I’m getting out of this vacation,” Edge says. “I spend plenty of time trying to keep the two of you from getting killed as it is. I could easily do that without having to find someone to feed my cats for a few days.”

“Oh, I’m sure we could make it worth your while,” Sans says.

Sans has been known to make the occasional suggestive remark around him, but he usually backtracks, tripping on himself in his haste. Has it not occurred to him? Was that pause deliberate? Is Sans trying in some unintentionally cruel way to convey that he’s more comfortable with Edge’s attraction to him? It sounded almost a subtler version of Red’s flirting, but--

Fuck, he wishes Red was here to act as translator. There’s too much hope tangled up in any interpretation he could make, dangerously biasing his conclusions.

Sans sneaks a glance at him, and his smile does something strange and bittersweet. “Anyway. Lotta stuff’s been going on. You could use a break.”

“I’m fine,” Edge says.

“Uh-huh. What with protecting the kid and--” Sans barely stumbles over the name. “-- Asgore, and helping Paps with the whole kink thing, and keeping Red’s shit together, and fixing my soul--”

“All things that I’m honored to do,” Edge says, regretting his ill-considered comment about the hassle of keeping Red and Sans alive.

“I know you like taking care of people. I’m kinda worried nobody’s taking care of _you_ ,” Sans says. 

That’s a sentiment that no one’s ever voiced before. Edge looks at him with a warmth in his soul that’s nearly pain. The words are on his tongue to reassure him again that he’s all right, that he needs nothing. This thing where people allow him to look after them without making him bleed for it is new and satisfying, an aching hunger finally being fed. It’s certainly easier than dealing with whatever he may be feeling about getting exiled from the first home he ever knew, his one ally turning on him. But Sans is reaching out and Edge doesn’t want to pull away.

“I mean, okay, Red is probably, uh.” Sans makes a very evocative hand gesture with a fluid wrist, as if he’s had plenty of practice. That gesture is going to haunt Edge’s libido. “ _Taking care_ of you. And fuck knows he’s good at it. Okay, kind of amazing, actually, but if you tell him I said that, I’m gonna deny it.”

As if Red doesn’t know and isn’t exceedingly smug about it. Dryly, Edge says, “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thanks. But he’s not exactly the most relaxing guy to be around.”

“Relaxing,” Edge echoes. He can’t say he’s ever relaxed in his life. “Well, you’re the expert. Supposedly. What would you suggest?”

For a moment, Sans is clearly caught off guard. He expected Edge to shut him down, perhaps, revenge for all the times that Sans has rebuffed (gently or otherwise) anyone who tried to worry about him. Then he truly grins and lays an over-dramatic hand over his soul. “My whole life has been leading to this moment. The peak of the mountain. The cycle of life. The teacher passing on his knowledge to the next generation.”

Edge sighs heavily, knowing it’ll amuse him. “Yes, Sans. If you actually give me an answer at some point, we’ll find you a nice ice floe to put you out on at the ripe old age of 28.”

That bright grin widens. “How am I supposed to resist that kind of offer? Lemme think.” 

And he actually seems to, his foot idly swinging where it doesn’t quite reach the ground. After a moment, Edge feels obligated to add, “I’m not napping, using drugs or leaving town.”

“I figured.” Sans’s hand wanders over to his wrist again. With a strange hesitancy, he says, “We could hang out.”

“We are hanging out,” Edge points out. “As we do every day, barring catastrophe.”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Sans says. Edge tries not to preen. “But I mean like you hung out with Paps last night. Some good food, some bad laughs, nothing on fire, no emergency soul first aid. Maybe dinner or a movie or something.”

It would be nothing like hanging out with Papyrus. For one thing, Edge doubts that Sans is volunteering to go to a lecture on rope bondage. For another, Papyrus isn’t the one Edge wants in his bed. A fact that Sans is aware of. For someone who winced at the word ‘date’, what Sans is suggesting seems to be pushing the boundaries of it.

Not that Edge has ever actually been on a date. Their universe and Red didn’t lend itself to such things. From what Red has said of Sans’s history, he doesn’t think Sans has ever been on one either. Not his style. He’s overthinking a friendly gesture.

“I’m amenable,” Edge says. “You’re not picking the movie. You’ve burned me once before.”

Sans’s eyelights seem brighter for a moment. Then he chuckles as if at some private joke (or at himself) and looks away. “What, you didn’t enjoy the cinematic masterpiece of Paul Blart, Mall Cop?”

Edge gives him a look that he hopes conveys the full extent of his disdain. Sans laughs.

Considering that Sans had been the one to suggest it and then promptly fell asleep (or feigned it convincingly) so as not to face the consequences of his bad choices, Edge doubts that Sans expected him to enjoy it. Or to even watch all of it. It had become a point of pride that Edge would not be the one to cry uncle, Papyrus was just as stubborn, and Red has no taste in cinema and may or may not have unironically enjoyed it, which means that Edge sat there for the length of the movie. Sans’s movie-choosing privileges had been immediately revoked.

“Saturday okay for you?” Sans asks, still absently rubbing his wrist. “I’d say Sunday but I’m probably gonna be at work.”

“Saturday is fine,” Edge says. Then, carefully: “You’re starting full-time work again already?”

“Gotta do it sometime,” Sans says, a tightness around his eyes that belies his easy tone. “Can’t leech off Paps forever.”

According to the textbook, meant for a softer world like this one instead of what their universe became, by all rights Sans shouldn’t be doing anything more ambitious than he already is for a month or two. After he Fell, even Red took three weeks of hibernating on their couch, devouring whatever was put in front of him, and snapping at Edge when he got too close. But Edge learned his goddamn lesson regarding trying to tell Sans what to do, and working is clearly a sensitive subject.

“You hate that job,” Edge says.

“Everybody hates their job. That’s why it’s a job. But they give you this thing called money you can use to buy goods and services--”

“We've had the discussion about my knowledge of how capitalism works, so kindly stop explaining it to me like a condescending asshole,” Edge says. “I like my job.”

Sans gives him a crooked grin, untroubled by Edge calling him an asshole. “Well, you’re you. Paps loves his job too. The rest of us plebs gotta wander around doing jobs we don’t give a shit about and wanting to sit on the couch and watch art house cinema about mall cops.”

“You could work at the school instead,” Edge says. “I hear their science teacher quit.”

“Yeah?” Sans asks, amused. “A little red birdy told you? No thanks. I’m not good with kids, and me and science had a bad breakup. It left my stuff on the lawn and turned the sprinklers on.”

And much like a bad breakup with one’s first true love, Sans pines for it like Red does. But that’s probably not the kind of yearning that can be satisfied by teaching children to make potato batteries.

“You could work with Red,” Edge says.

Sans snorts, then glances around, checking for observers, before he says, “Yeah, right. That’s me. Super spy.”

“Isn’t that what you did underground?” Edge asks. “Gathered information?”

It’s a guess, extrapolated from what Red did in their universe. Judging from the way Sans immediately glances away, he probably guessed right. “I dunno what you’re talking about. I mostly napped and sold hot dogs.”

“And listened when people talked,” Edge says. “Am I to believe that you never happened to mention any of what you heard to Undyne or the king?”

“Yep, you are to believe,” Sans says. “Besides, if I worked with Red, I’m pretty sure what I do with him is against every sexual harassment policy in the books.”

“I doubt he’ll complain,” Edge says. “Just consider it. It’s what you’re already doing, simply talking to people that won’t talk to Red.”

“Maybe he should try being less of a dick, then.”

“How likely do you really think that is?”

Sans grunts. “Good point.”

“The hours are flexible. The pay is excellent.” Edge waits to deliver the sweetest temptation of all: “When people ask to speak to your manager, you can tell them to go fuck themselves.”

That one hit home. Sans sighs. “You know the way to my heart. You’ve dropped my employment panties.”

“I’m not sure how to take that,” Edge says.

Sans winks at him. “Aw, buddy, you can take it any way you want. I’ll ask Red. He might just tell me hell no.”

Red will jump on the opportunity to fill some of their more glaring information gaps and for more chances to fuck Sans in the middle of the afternoon, but that’s between them. Edge nods. “Good.”

There’s a brief flicker of _something_ in Sans’s expression, and then he grins. “And you get on my ass about redirecting the conversation when you try to talk about how I am. Nice trick, turning it around on me.”

“I’m genuinely concerned. And also fine.” That seems insufficient. Gingerly, Edge pats Sans’s shoulder. “I appreciate you thinking of me.”

“Yeah, well,” Sans says, easy beneath the weight of Edge’s hand still resting on his shoulder. “I do that a lot.”

“Do you?” Edge asks, surprised.

“Yep.” Sans’s grin is rueful. “At the damnedest times, too.”

“Oh.” Sans just _says_ these things. Much of Red’s smugness is suddenly explained. If Edge could purr, he probably would. “I, er, think of you too.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sans says. His eyelights are soft. Then he clears his throat. “I don’t wanna send you packing, but you’re the one who’s gainfully employed, so...”

Edge glances at the clock on the embassy and winces. He’s already a few minutes over. Yes, Asgore has been hinting that he should indulge himself in a half hour or even an hour for lunch, but Asgore makes bad decisions about his own safety. Not as bad as Red or Sans, but bad enough.

“Yes.” Reluctantly, Edge gives Sans’s shoulder another pat and withdraws his hand. “I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow. Or tonight if you stay more than fifteen minutes after you’re done having sex with Red.”

Sans shrugs. “We’ll see. Depends on how much of a dick he is.”

“So you’ll definitely be leaving.”

“Nah, I tend to stick around longer if he’s a total asshole.”

“I have noticed that.” Edge should go. He really doesn’t want to. Being with Sans is different than being with Red. Not better or worse, but different, more tender and awkward and sweet, less likely to explode with the weight of all their history. He loves them differently. He loves them both. He hitches a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going.”

“Okee dokee,” Sans says, slouched back against the bench, in no hurry to spare Edge the awkwardness. Asshole.

“Yes,” Edge says, and takes his exit rather abruptly for the second time in an hour. These people need to stop putting him in these positions. His life was simpler when everyone but Red was afraid of him.

When he gets back to find Undyne standing vigil outside Asgore’s office, she lowers her mug. Probably tea. Edge is glad to be standing too far away to smell it; the scent of golden flower tea makes him nauseous now. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Edge says, terse, taking up position on the other side of the door. By no means does Asgore need two of them stationed there as he eats lunch and takes phone calls, probably ordering seed catalogs again, but Edge hasn’t been told to go to his office.

Undyne gestures at her face. “You’re kinda pink.”

“Your eye must be going.”

A toothy grin blossoms across her face. “Holy shit, are you blushing?”

“No,” he repeats, his tone a warning that they’re about to get reprimanded for trying to maim each other in the hallways again if she doesn’t shut up.

Undyne cackles, and it reverberates down the hallway. It’s amazing she didn’t cause a cave-in when they were still underground. “I guess you don’t need me to set you up after all, huh?”

“Captain, I _will_ kill you,” Edge says.

It doesn’t help. She keeps laughing at him, a familiar sound that’s so close to the one he knew, and despite his best intentions, he finds himself almost smiling. They bring him peace, these ridiculous people. They make him happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings: Red talking shit about selling baby organs on the black market, Edge and Red's entire dysfunctional everything, Papyrus mistaking Red and Edge's relationship for abuse in the past


End file.
